


Just a Couple of Problem Solvers

by CasinoLights



Series: I Knew You’d be the Death of Me [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Assorted Oneshots with Various Attributes, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Rating as mature just to be safe, may contain: brief violence, may contain: profanity, may contain: sex mentions, oneshots, prompt collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9208973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasinoLights/pseuds/CasinoLights
Summary: A collection of oneshots about the relationship between Amy Enns, the Courier, and her constant companion, Boone. They’re out of order and some aren’t in line with my canon anymore, but they’re fun to read nonetheless. Most of these come from my warm-ups and my tumblr account, and I'll be adding more as I write them. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!





	1. Tell Me About...

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the second Boone x Courier work I’ve ever written. Because it’s such an early one, I believe it takes place after the Second Battle for Hoover Dam with an NCR victory.

A trail of garments leads to the bed, ending with a red beret. The courier’s cheeks are nearly the same color when she falls back against the sheets. Her skin still tingles all over and her core still radiates warmth and pleasure. She looks over at the wonderful, _wonderful_ man beside her and flashes Boone a lazy grin. “Can we do that again?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk. When he looks at her, she’s still covered in gooseflesh from her wrists to her ankles. Presenting itself as shivers, smiles, and tangled hair, the afterglow looks beautiful on her. He reaches over and sweeps her hair away from her eyes. His fingers stroke the side of her face and follow her jawline to her neck, where he starts slowly mapping out the lines of her body.

She allows a quiet sigh, comfort mixed with satisfaction, and pulls herself against him. With her head resting on his chest, she finds a scar on his side and softly asks, “What’s this from?”

“Raiders. Took out a pretty big camp with First Recon once. Couple of them snuck up on us with switchblades.”

She scans his exposed torso and finds another, older than the last. A bullet wound. “What about this one?”

He follows her gaze. He doesn’t remember all of them—they’ve been part of him for years. “Probably Khans.”

“Probably? Is it from Bitter Springs?”

“No. Don’t remember.” He notes a thick scar above her left breast and brushes his thumb over it. “I know this one. Legion.”

“Yeah, I remember. That one hurt.” A faint smile crosses her face when she thinks back to the way he bandaged her up that day. She was in love even then.

His fingers skim down to a burn on her hip. “And this one?”

“Powder Gangers in Primm, before I met you. One of them got his hands on a flamethrower somehow, and my ‘rugged wanderer’ look didn’t cover my waist. Lesson learned.”

He covers the scar with his palm, pulling her closer in the same motion.

She yawns, then he yawns, and she closes her eyes. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to round two,” she says.

“Save it for morning.” He kisses her hair, shifts a little, and shuts his eyes too. He’s asleep in twelve minutes; she’s asleep in eight. For once, even the nightmares keep their distance.


	2. Not With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Amy get drunk after she kills Benny on behalf of Mr. House. Boone realizes she’s better than just a one-night stand, but the day he communicates his feelings clearly is the day those NCR soldiers get the nuclear winter they’ve all been wishing for, so have some drunken cuddles instead.

The courier’s empty whiskey bottle slips from her hands and lands on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. She looks over at her companion, reclined on the couch beside her and nursing the last of his third bottle of beer. He barely even stirs when she wraps her fingers around his free hand.

“Boone?” she says, her raspy voice too loud for the chilly silence in the suite.

He offers only a strangled grunt in response. Still, he indulges her grabby fingers by pushing his hand toward her so she can properly hold it.

“What are you thinking about?”

Behind the neck of his bottle, the corner of his mouth twitches up. He waits for another question, but one doesn’t come. She’s asking honestly. He shrugs for her; it’s as good an answer as any.

“Come on,” she pries. “I know you’re thinking about _something_.”

He still doesn’t look at her. The spot on the carpet where Benny bled through his suit still hasn’t come out, and if Boone stares at it long enough he can start noticing different shapes. Or maybe it’s just his last two beers playing with his head.

So what is he thinking about? He doesn’t even know, himself. “Legion,” he lies. “Last camp we took down had ten beds and six men. Four are still out there somewhere.”

“Bullshit,” Six says. She knows there were four missing, but she also knows they killed four on the road a few miles away. She isn’t calling him on that, anyway. “What are you really thinking about?”

He wants to shrug again, but Six is as stubborn as a Bighorner with a favored mate, and she’s just gonna keep asking until he cracks. He turns his head to look at her, catching a crooked smile on her face as he does, and now he really does want to hide what he’s thinking about. Another lie won’t go over well, though, so he swallows his pride with the last gulp of his drink and says, “Now I’m thinking about you.”

Whether it’s his words or her whiskey, her cheeks are flushed redder than the lights in Gomorrah. “What about me?”

_Everything_. He cycles through a few lines before settling on one that’s mostly truth tonight. “How stubborn you are.”

She grins. “You sure you wouldn’t rather be thinking of something _else_?”

He’s still got enough of his faculties to refuse her advances—and he knows he should, for both their sakes—but he can’t rightly say he wants to.

“Ask me again when you’re sober.”

“Not a fan of drunken one-night-stands, huh?”

“Not with you.”

She stops herself before she speaks again, and he uses the fresh silence to return his attention to the stain on the carpet.

“Not good enough for you?”

“Other way around.”

She smiles, then looks down at her hand as it rests atop his. Now he’s positioned his arm so they can interlace their fingers, and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. She rests her head on his shoulder and he sinks lower into the sofa to accommodate her.

He looks at her and drops his empty beer bottle off the side of the sofa, using his newly freed right hand to pull her hair away from her forehead. Her eyelids flutter closed and she drifts off, that lazy grin still turning her lips.

He makes sure to savor the sight before he shuts his eyes too.


	3. Give Me Patience, Holy Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amy wakes up during Boone’s watch and scares the living daylights out of him with a pillow. Additionally, he wears his sunglasses at night. This takes place about a week after she meets him in Novac.

The moonlight filters in through holes in the rusty tin roof. Enns scowls into her pillow as she flips it from side to side. Eventually, she tosses it on the floor with a muted growl, and Boone jerks his arm toward his rifle.

“God _dammit_ , Enns. You want to take your watch early, just say something.”

She snorts in response. “You’re so jumpy. Why are you up, anyway?”

He answers only with a grunt.

“Fine, be that way. But I’m awake now, so I’m probably just gonna pester you and pester you and—”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he interrupts roughly. “Dreams.”

Her smirk fades. “Hey, I’m sorry. Is it PTSD? I have that. Doctor Mitchell said I do, anyway. But he said it mostly happens to soldiers, so I don’t know why I would have it... hey, weren’t you a soldier? I forgot.”

He almost envies that. “Yeah,” he says, as he has twice before. “NCR First Recon.”

“The last thing you never see.” Her brows knit together as she picks a scab on her knuckles. “Dunno why I remember _that_.”

He’s tired. So he simply says, “Me neither,” and rubs his face with one hand.

Her expression changes to one of concern. “Boone, are you okay? I can take over if you want.”

“I’m fine.”

She slides off the dusty bunk bed and sits crosslegged on the floor beside him. “Well, I can’t sleep either, so you’re stuck with me. You wanna head out, get some rest, or just sit here moping in the dark?”

He sighs impatiently and his eyes narrow. It only occurs to her now that his sunglasses are in his pack, not on his face, and she suddenly wishes she could see him from the front.

“Hey, Boone. What color are your eyes?”

Finally, something she says gets his attention. “What?”

“What color are your eyes? Mine are brown.”

Dismissively, he says, “Dunno.” Then he pictures his enlistment forms and shakes his head. “Green.”

“Huh.” She smiles, though he doesn’t see it. “Why do you always wear those sunglasses, anyway?”

He glances at her sideways. “It’s bright.”

“Yeah, but you even wore them inside when we found this shack.” She rests for a beat, then adds with a grin, “Are you just self-conscious? I’ll still be your best friend even if you’re really, _really_ ugly.”

He ignores her. It only takes a few more moments of silence for her to groan loudly and flop onto her belly. “ _Dame paciencia virgen santísima_.”

“Hnh.” He doesn’t know what she said, but he can tell it isn’t praise.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He sighs again. “Old stuff. Doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it matters to me.”

Still, he stares at the barricaded door and not at her. “Shouldn’t.”

“Well, it does. So what?”

“Look,” he begins, glancing over at her again, “we’ve done some traveling, but we’re not exactly comrades-in-arms. I’m not ready to swap war stories.”

“I didn’t ask for war stories.” She sits up again, positioning herself directly in front of him this time. “Now that you mention it, though—”

“Drop it, Enns.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’re on your own the rest of the way to Vegas.”

She scoffs, then scowls. Then her expression softens, her eyes fall, and she wilts a bit. “Fine,” she says, though she’s lost the bitterness and replaced it with something that sounds as close to apologetic as he thinks she can get. “I guess I’ll just leave you alone, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Dame paciencia virgen santísima” is Spanish and translates to the title of this chapter: “Give me patience, holy virgin.” All the Spanish I use in my work has been vetted by an actual Latina who speaks actual Spanish and has given me invaluable advice on how to realistically include Amy’s native language. Huge thanks and many hugs for you, Angél!


	4. You Can’t Repeat the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy wakes up from nightmares about her time in the Fort. Still debating if this or something like it will end up in the longfic, but here you go nonetheless.

She awakes with a start, chest heaving with each shuddering breath and hands damp with chilly sweat. Her back is pressed to his, and she feels his muscles tense and release a few times. She knows that movement—it means he’s awake.

“Boone?” she rasps in the gloom.

“You okay?” he asks in response, little more than a rumble from his chest.

She takes a moment to consider it. Is she? She turns over so she’s facing him and presses herself against him before shaking her head.

“I dreamt about them again,” she whispers eventually. “The Legion.”

He doesn’t speak, but she can tell by his breathing he’s awake enough to listen.

“I was in that tent again, and Caesar—” here, she stops herself and says his name again, the way Boone does. Reminding herself to say _See-sar_ instead of _Kye-sar._ “He said my name—my full name—and said I was one of them, and had his men...”

Boone’s voice comes out colder than he’d intended. “You can stop.”

“No. Arcade said I need to tell you about this stuff. Get it out of my head.”

 _And into mine_ , he thinks grimly. “Okay.”

“They tried to kill me this time. But I woke up again, in Cottonwood Cove. And then I saw you, up on the ridge, and... you really _did_ kill me. For good.”

His muscles tense again, and they don’t relax this time. He shuts his eyes and prays she doesn’t know he’d thought hard about it when he first saw her, bloodied and bruised and still fighting back in the heart of the Fort.

“Boone?”

“What?”

“If the others weren’t there, would you have?”

 _Shit_. He opens his eyes again, and with a slow, measured exhale, he relaxes. “Yes.”

She twines her arms around his chest. “I... I think I hoped you would, when I was there. But I’m happy you didn’t.”

He tries to say, “ _I’m sorry,_ ” but it catches in his throat and comes out as a weakened grunt instead. He shrugs her away and sits up, rubbing a hand across his face, feeling the scrape of his wedding ring across his cheek. And then he turns and pulls his arms around Amy, lying down beside her again with her head tucked under his chin.

“Boone...”

It’s more of a breath than anything. Still, he doesn’t answer it. Only tenses again—around her now, not against her—and closes his eyes.

Sometimes, she wishes he _had_ shot her. But then she sees his face, sees the pity in it, and realizes _he_ sometimes wishes he had, too. Tonight, they can agree they’re glad he didn’t. She just doesn’t know how long that’ll last.


End file.
